Dark Justice(18)

“Hello, Mrs. Shire.” Deputy Harcroft approached, another man by his side, this one tall with gray hair and steel-blue eyes. A no-nonsense air hung about him, an air that exuded the power and confidence of law enforcement. “Thank you for coming,” Harcroft said. “This is Sergeant Charles Wade.”

Wade held out his hand, and I shook it. This was the man I’d have to tell that I’d lied to Harcroft?

A far worse thought nipped at me. What if I hadn’t lied? Could the doctors have saved Morton? If they’d known that something beyond the car accident was wrong . . . If they’d thought to look for a wound . . .

But nothing Morton said made me think he’d been attacked.

Wade looked me straight in the eye, as if he could see the thoughts swirling in my head.

I managed a little smile. “This is my mother, Carol. She has a sandwich to eat. Maybe she could—”

“Oh, I’m not going to eat now.” Mom’s voice carried her what-are-you-thinking tone. “I need to find out about Morton.”

A female deputy rounded the corner, a cute young woman with sandy-blonde hair. Smiling, she introduced herself to Mom as Nance Bolliver. “Way cool hat.”

My mother tilted her head. “Thank you. I want to know about Morton.”

Nance nodded. “That’s what I’m here for. Let’s go somewhere so we can talk, okay? It’s too crowded in this bare little room. I understand you brought a sandwich? Time for me to eat too.”

Almost before I knew it, Nance was whisking my mother away, sandwich and water bottle in hand. I watched Mom go, anxiety pinging in my chest. We’d just gotten here, and already every move seemed orchestrated.

Why had I taken Tunitas Creek Road? Why hadn’t I just driven straight home?

“Please. Have a seat.” Harcroft indicated one of the straight-backed wooden chairs. I chose a seat at one end of the rectangular table and set my purse on the floor. Harcroft sat on my right, Wade straight across from me at the other end. In the top corner of the room hung a camera. Was it recording? Isn’t that what they used for suspects? My frightened eyes flicked from it to Harcroft.

“Don’t worry about the camera, just standard procedure.”

“For what?”

“For interviews. We don’t want to forget anything you tell us.”

Understanding hit. That nice young female deputy wasn’t just sharing a sandwich with my mother. She was questioning her—alone. With her own camera running.

“I want my mother back in here right now.”

“She’s fine, she’s fine.” Wade held up a hand. “Nance’ll take good care of her. She’s very good with the elderly. When she heard you and your mother were coming in, she asked to help.”

“Help, using one of those?” I pointed to the camera.

“Really, your mother will be okay.”

“I don’t want you interrogating her. She’s easily upset. She’s already upset about Morton dying. You don’t know how to handle her like I do.”

“Mrs. Shire, we understand.” Harcroft sat forward, forearms on the table. “We’ll take good care of her. Trust me in that.”

I pressed back in my chair. Managed a reluctant nod.

“Okay,” Harcroft said. “We didn’t have long to talk at the scene of the accident. The reporter was there, and you needed to get your mother home. We wanted to go over everything again with you in light of what we now know.”

“Am I a suspect?”

Harcroft spread his hands. “We just need information from you, including that flash drive you told us about. And we need to hear about the two men who came to your home.”

He hadn’t answered my question.

“It’s vitally important that we find those men.”

Yes, it was. Something inside me relaxed. A little.

Sergeant Wade ran a finger along his jawline. “Let me ask you this first—why were you on Tunitas Creek Road?”

Hadn’t Deputy Harcroft asked me this already? I shrugged. “I don’t know. It was just a different way to go home. A scenic route. My mother loves pretty scenery. And we weren’t in any hurry.”

“Have you ever been on that road before?”

“I guess. I can’t remember when. But I somehow knew it intersected with Skyline, which would take us over to Highway 92.”

The two men seemed to digest that.

I bent over and rustled through my purse, my fingers closing on hard plastic. “Here’s the flash drive you want.” I set it on the table.

Wade pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to pick up the drive. Too late I realized it had my fingerprints all over it. “What’s on the video?” Wade asked.